


to fix a name (to mend a heart)

by starklystar



Series: 101 ways to propose [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nightmares, Obligatory Hospital Scene, also, because i am soft for that, steve fixes dum e, there's a part where
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: He wants to shake Steve, to tell him to run before Tony can break him, too.He wants to ask Steve:‘how can you say that?’Wants to yell at Steve:‘how can you think that?’But what comes out is –“How can you love me?”-----Or: Tony fixes the Tower, a toaster, and his name.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: 101 ways to propose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793032
Comments: 43
Kudos: 475





	to fix a name (to mend a heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anthonydarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthonydarling/gifts).



> for a tumblr prompt from anthonydarling. this thing was meant to be 1k words but my brain couldn't stop coming with additional scenes, so you get a get together fic as well as a proposal fic :D
> 
> the first parts are rocky, please bear with me, i just finished my undergrad thesis defense and this was made out of the stress from it and i hope it's coherent enough :)

“Hold onto this for a moment, will you?”

Steve blinks at the red handle and the shiny golden tip of the small screwdriver. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d been asked to come to Stark Tower only a week after Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard, but it certainly wasn’t to meet a very harried Tony Stark, blueprints scattered around the room and the man himself buried elbow-deep in repairs.

“Do you need any help?” Steve steps forward, peering at the large hole in the floor that Stark is kneeling over.

“No. Just ask JARVIS where your rooms are,” Stark mumbles, busy with the mess of cables in his hands, “this is the common room, or it will be when I get the wiring done.”

Again, Steve blinks, unable to quite understand. Last he checked, he had no rooms anywhere here. “Mr. Stark, I don’t think – ”

“First of all, it’s Tony,” the man finally looks up at Steve, his eyes hidden behind thick safety goggles, “and second of all, leave the thinking to the genius.”

“Tony, then,” Steve tries out the name. As unfamiliar as it is, it feels strangely intimate. Frowning at the unwelcome thought, he quickly shoves it away. “What do you mean by rooms?”

“Keep up, Captain,” Tony teases, “the Avengers need a base. Why not make it in your favorite ugly building?”

Coming from this Tony Stark, with grease-stained cheeks and hair sticking up at all angles, the barb hits differently. 

It feels almost friendly – the same way Stark had prodded at Doctor Banner – and Steve finds himself uncomfortably thrown out of balance.

He doesn’t know what to do with this olive branch, doesn’t know what to do with an offer of a place to stay. With the foreign feeling of being given an anchor after months of being lost adrift.

He’s saved from having to say anything, though, when a British voice speaks from the ceiling. Steve assumes the voice is one of the public loudspeakers.

“Sir, I’ve been asked to remind you that Ms. Potts is waiting on the twelfth floor with the rest of your boardmembers.”

“Ah,” Tony sighs heavily, snapping off his safety goggles. He stands up and dusts off his pants. “Duty calls. JARVIS, say hi to Captain Handsome, and introduce him to the amenities, will you?”

Steve splutters. What was any of that supposed to mean? And is Tony really – 

“Are you seriously going to a meeting dressed like that?”

The words slip out without Steve meanings them to.

Tony shrugs, not bothered in the least by his distracting – now that Steve is thinking about it, his _very_ distracting – tank top. 

“If you’re hoping to see me take my shirt off, you’re welcome to drop by my bedroom.”

That isn’t something Steve is ready to justify with an answer, and Tony is already halfway across the room when Steve looks down at the tool in his hand and remembers it.

“Tony!” Steve stops him in time. “Where do I put this?”

The man shrugs again, lips quirking up to one side. “Just keep it safe for me, Rogers.”

Well, Steve thinks.

He can, at the very least, do that. 

* * *

Living with Tony Stark is maddening.

Well. Living with the Avengers is a recipe for disaster, what with their proclivities for the weirdest habits – Clint in the vents, Thor’s obsession with pop tarts, and don’t get Steve started on the other Avengers.

But walking into the kitchen to see their toaster in pieces and Tony muttering about making a new line of Stark Industries toasters instead of having to deal with this insult to humanity – Steve nearly walks back out. 

He’s stopped, however, by Tony’s grumble that even his tools aren’t cooperating.

Steve doesn’t know exactly what the poor toaster did to earn such a treatment, but he does know that he has Tony’s screwdriver, which might help.

Going back up to his room to take it, Steve returns to the kitchen to find Tony still having a standoff with a dismantled toaster.

“Here,” Steve offers, walking in carefully to avoid any of Tony’s ire. 

Tony squints at him for a second before he snatches the tool. 

“I was looking for that,” Tony grumbles, then his brows crease in a frown, “you’ve kept it all this time?”

“You, uh, told me to keep it safe,” Steve says, suddenly feeling awkward and defensive.

Tony stares at him for a moment longer, eyes flitting through too many things for Steve to be able to keep up, but he catches Tony’s surprise, and something too close to fondness that Steve explains away as gratitude, before everything shutters off to practiced indifference

“Stupid toaster keeps burning my bread,” Tony explains in lieu of a normal thanks.

Living with Tony Stark is maddening, because Steve can never understand him.

The man swings between outright flirting and a cold acquaintanceship, even as they both swing from easy banter to groundbreaking screaming matches that end only when Bruce throws one of them out of the window.

Steve is trying to get along better, though, and buoyed by his success in helping Tony, he braves asking, “isn’t it the toaster’s job description to burn bread?”

“Isn’t it your job description to wave a flag?”

Steve snorts, startled by his own amusement. 

“I’m too old to wave a flag,” he gamely replies.

It’s Tony’s turn to snort, and when he looks up at Steve, his eyes are brighter than Steve ever remembers seeing them. 

“You’re pretty spry. I’m sure you could manage.”

Steve grins, happily falling into their usual, easy banter.

“And I’m sure your billionaire pockets could manage to spare that poor toaster and just buy a new one.”

“It’s wasteful,” Tony scrunches his nose, “and besides, this rebellious baby’s been with me for a decade.”

 _Sentimental_ , Steve wants to tease him, but he’s too captivated by the way Tony easily takes each piece, slotting them back together, pieces of a puzzle that stand no chance against the brilliance of his mind.

 _Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist_. 

Steve wonders how much each of those words were another suit of armor to protect _this_ Tony Stark, who talked with his tools and cared deeply for them, who had a heart large enough to save the world but who gave that love to things that couldn’t hurt him back.

But it feels too much like in intrusion to stay, so Steve excuses himself, stilted and awkward.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Something almost like disappointment fleetingly crosses Tony’s face, and Steve wants to turn back, to reach out and wipe the pain away, but Tony’s no longer looking at him, lost in a world Steve can never hope to understand.

* * *

Later, when Steve comes back to check on the toaster, he finds its bright red color has been replaced by a mini American flag, the smell of paint hanging fresh in the air.

And next to it, laying innocently on the counter, is the familiar red and gold screwdriver. 

Steve picks it up.

Tony _did_ tell him to keep it safe.

And if it gave him another excuse to talk with its owner, well.

Steve supposes it’s an added bonus.

* * *

HYDRA takes them on a Tuesday.

It would have simply been annoying if Tony hadn’t been hurt bad enough for his breaths to come in unsteady rasps. They’d been out at the park to get some hotdogs and while Steve had certainly hurt the agents worse than they’d hurt Tony, he wasn’t able to stop them.

 _Nobody_ gets to hurt his Tony without suffering the consequences. 

The two of them have gotten along better in the past months, Tony slowly letting them in and Steve learning how to read between the lines of Tony's words. Unfortunately, it also means that Steve can sense Tony's obvious discomfort now, and the way he's hiding something from Steve.

Tony won’t lift up his shirt, but Steve knows that there’s a massive bruise forming on his ribs – the agents had wanted to show what any resistance from Steve would mean, and, frustratingly enough, it worked.

Steve had let himself be put in the cuffs that were clearly enhanced to match his strength.

Luckily, they _hadn’t_ done enough research to know that putting Steve and Tony in the same cell would only lead to disaster.

Their chained to opposite sides of the small stone room, but it didn’t matter. Nothing so primitive could hinder them.

Tony’s eyes dart around towards the lone light above them – his chest reactor shines more brightly than it – then to Steve’s chains, and finally to the black boots Steve had put on this morning.

“Do you, by any miracle,” a sly smile forms across Tony’s lips, “have my screwdriver with you?”

Steve squirms in his cuffs, trying to get the leverage needed to reach it. “I do.”

He has no time to spare any embarrassment that Tony knows he carries the small tool around everywhere. Pushing those mortifying thoughts away, he toes open the small compartment that had been designed into the soles of his boots.

The tracker attached there falls out, together with the screwdriver.

“Atta boy,” Tony teases, and Steve kicks the tool towards him, watching with bated breath as it skitters along the bumps of the cold floor, stopping just short of Tony’s hands.

Deftly, Tony twists around to pick it up. A cough, and then a clink, and then –

“Your turn,” Tony walks over to him, wrists marred red from pulling against the metal cuffs now lying in pieces on the floor.

Steve offers him his hands, staring disbelievingly.

“What did you say your tool was made of again, Tony?”

“Imperial gold.”

“What?”

“Iridium gold alloy,” Tony covers up quickly, “but that’s not important. You need to bust out of here.”

“We, you mean,” Steve corrects as the cuffs fall off his own wrists too. He reaches forward to put the tracker back in his boot, checking to make sure it’s online. The team should be coming any moment, but it’s preferable that they both leave before HYDRA decides to take their next move.

Tony looks away from him. “I’ll only slow you down.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll leave you here.”

“Well better an idiot that you dead!” Tony hisses, breaking into another cough.

“How badly are you hurt?” Steve pins him down with his gaze, searching for any lie.

This is the Tony Stark that Steve most fears – the man ready to fix the entire world, to save billions of lives, at the cost of cutting the wire on himself.

Steve refuses to let him be another casualty of the war, refuses to let Tony's war against himself destroy the unerring kindness and goodness Steve has learned to see in the man. 

Tony huffs, defeated. “They dislodged the reactor casing. Badly. You should go, find the team and bring them back here.”

“They’ll find us anyway. I’d rather not risk you.”

Slumping against the wall, Tony finds it in himself to smile ruefully. “And I’d rather not risk _you_.”

“You’re not going to make me leave,” Steve stubbornly replies, “so what can I do to help?”

“Why do you care?” Tony asks, almost childishly.

He gives up on standing, sliding against the wall to sit on the floor. Steve’s blurry face appears not long after, and if Tony had the strength, he’d be giggling.

A damp cell in the HYDRA base isn’t the best time to have a heart-to-heart, but there isn’t anything much they can do if Steve is insistent on staying.

And any second now, he’ll black out from the pain in his chest. While he’s awake enough to learn the answer, he might as well hear it.

“Tony,” Steve calls his name, and he wants to complain that it isn’t an answer, but his tongue is heavy, and there’s a warm hand against his neck.

It’s comfortable, and Tony leans into it, and –

* * *

“ _Fix him!_ ” somebody yells, too loud and too close.

“I’m doing by best, I – ”

“Don’t you _dare_ leave me like this, you hear me?”

Tony hears him, he does, but –

“Stay with us. Stay with _me_.”

Tony tries.

* * *

“Hey,” Tony shifts around, bleary and tired.

They’re in a hospital room. Judging by the shadows in Steve’s eyes and the heavy stubble on his chin – which, _wow_ – Tony’s been under for some time. The damned screwdriver is still in his hands, turning round and round between Steve’s agitated fingers, which freeze as soon as Steve registers Tony’s voice.

“Hey,” Steve replies shortly.

It’s silent, neither of them knowing what to say. Instead, Steve puts down the tool and offers Tony some of the ice chips from his bedside, leaning forward in the standard, ugly plastic chair to feed them to Tony, who tries his damnedest to _not_ think about the way Steve’s hand brushes against his lips.

The ice is a blessing to his dry throat, but eventually, the silence grows too thick, and –

“Jarvis gave it to me,” Tony blurts out. “The screwdriver,” he adds when Steve frowns. “Jarvis said I could fix anything I wanted, build anything I dreamed of.”

Not that Tony’s done much fixing lately. He’s spent most of his adult life building weapons that destroy, that hurt people. Like he’s obviously hurt Steve somehow, if the man’s cold silence is anything to go by.

“He sounds like a wise man.”

This time, Steve’s voice is warmer, but it’s still strained.

“He would have liked you, so I don’t know about wise,” Tony pretends to flippantly answer, all the while doing his best to force his sluggish mind to figure out _what_ he did wrong to upset Steve.

“Well, I heard from the grapevine that you more than like me.”

Banter is good, Tony tells himself. If Steve is willing to respond jokingly, then he mustn’t have done anything too bad. What is bad though, is Steve discovering Tony’s not-so-little crush on him.

And it _is_ a crush, because even now, Tony’s heart lurches, and he glances apprehensively at the heart monitor he’s connected to, hoping that the unsteady thudding of his traitorous heart won’t be visible.

“Depends,” Tony ventures carefully. “Do you more than like me, too?”

“I like you anytime you aren’t hiding any life-threatening injuries from me.”

 _Ah_ , Tony realises. He should have known. Steve doesn’t like it when his teammates get injured. Tony isn’t anyone special.

“Would a kiss make you like me again?” Tony half-heartedly mocks, too tired to properly hide his hurt, except –

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I said yes.”

Tony swallows, thrown off balance by the answer.

 _Why do you care?_ he remembers himself asking in the HYDRA cell, and he really should be ashamed of calling himself a genius.

“Are you sure?” Tony can’t help but ask. Steve might have suffered a head injury, Steve could be a Skrull, Steve –

Steve is kissing him.

And, Tony supposes as he leans into the kiss, there isn’t anything much he can do except kiss back.

* * *

“He really would have adored you,” Tony tells Steve one night.

“Who?”

“Jarvis. He would have loved you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. “He loved anyone who made me happy.”

* * *

Steve gives Tony a toolbox on his birthday.

Tony hands it back to Steve.

“Keep it safe for me,” he smiles.

Steve rolls his eyes, but kisses Tony anyway.

* * *

  
“Tony? Sweetheart? You’re alright. I’m here.” 

Tony clings onto the voice, trying to calm himself. His skin prickles with the coldness of the night air, the last dredges of the nightmare cloying heavily on his mind. His lungs burn, heaving for air, but the warm hand rubbing soothing circles into his back – _Steve_ , his bleary mind remembers – helps to center him, slowly bringing him away from the darkness.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Steve’s face, pinched and worried, and he hates that. He hates worrying Steve, hates that he has to ruin everything. 

They had a good night earlier – they’d gone Christmas shopping for the rest of the team, made hot chocolate and defiled the common room couch. 

But of course, his mind had to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be this happy. 

All the families he’s destroyed, all the death and destruction, and yet he’s here, letting himself be comforted by a man who nearly sacrificed his life to end a war. 

Steve is still murmuring gently next to him, the dim lights casting a soft glow across their bedroom. 

Tony can do nothing except stare at his own hands. Callused from his time in the workshop, from building weapons and taking lives. 

“I’ve destroyed so much,” he confesses, needing to let out his guilt, his fear. “Everything I’ve built, they hurt and they kill. Even with the Iron Man suits, I still hurt people.”

The hand on his back stops moving.

He looks up to find Steve sternly looking back at him.

“Not everything. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but you...” Steve trails off as he takes Tony’s hands, tracing the lines of Tony’s palms softly, trailing over their bumps and faint scars, “your hands have made miracles. They’ve saved the world so many times.”

Tony shakes his head, the feeling of Steve’s cold body beneath his fingers still too real, too possible. 

One of these days, Tony will hurt him. Or worse, Tony will fail to protect him, will fail to save him.

Nothing good lasts, and Tony, no matter how hard he tries, “it’ll never be enough.” 

_I’ll never be enough_ , Tony nearly adds, but it would only serve to wound Steve even more. 

So instead, Tony continues haltingly, “I’m a mechanic. I should fix things, not break them even more.”

Steve makes a pained noise, which Tony curses himself for. But Steve brings Tony’s hand up, placing a long, lingering kiss on each knuckle. 

The press of Steve’s lips against his skin is light but steady, and Tony thinks almost hysterically that this is it. 

This is what will break him.

Tony hadn’t spilled a single tear when the Ten Rings had shoved him underwater, again and again. 

He hadn’t cried at his parents’ funeral, hadn’t let himself mourn for Jarvis, or god forbid, Obadiah.

But this – this softness against his bruised bones, it threatens to unravel him, completely and irrevocably.

“You built us this Tower,” he hears Steve say in between each kiss, “you fixed your company. And don’t tell me that you don’t go to that orphanage every week.” 

_They’re children_ , Tony wants to deny the words, _it’s the least I can do_. No amount of visiting orphanages will make up for the parents he’s taken away from the world, and for the children whose lives he’s cut short. 

Steve isn’t stopping, though. He continues on, his words calm and measured. “I’ve killed people, too. Yes, we were at war, but that’s no excuse. And now that we don’t have a war, there’s nothing I can do. But you? You keep saving the world.”

Tony starts to shake his head at that, only to be halted by Steve’s next words. 

“Do you think I haven’t read about everything good that your company does? Tony, your hands, your mind, your heart – they turn the hope for a better future into a reality. I can only inspire people to stand for the right cause. You turn that cause into progress.”

Steve holds Tony’s gaze, fierce, unrelenting, full of purpose. “Sweetheart, you change lives for the better. You gave all those children a home, and you gave _me_ a home.”

On nights like this, it feels too much. The weight of Steve’s words, the sincerity laced deep in each syllable – Steve believes what he’s saying, and Tony fears that Steve will one day realise that none of those words are true. 

He wants to shake Steve, to tell him to run before Tony can break him, too.

He wants to ask Steve: ‘ _how can you say that?’_ Wants to yell at Steve: ‘ _how can you think that?’_ But what comes out is –

“How can you love me?”

Tony freezes, afraid of whatever answer waits behind Steve’s stormy eyes.

“How could I not?” Steve asks in return.

The question sounds so simple and childlike, as if nothing in the universe could change that fact.

The sky is blue, the sea has waves, and Steve loves Tony.

And that – Tony feels himself tremble, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

“Steve, I – ”

_I love you. I need you. I want you._

But the words stick to his throat, and he feels the first tears prickle at the corner of his eyes.

Steve is there in an instant, quickly wrapping his arms around Tony and pulling them closer together, until Tony can safely tuck his head under Steve’s chin, taking comfort in the strong beats of Steve’s heart.

 _Alive and well_ , each beat reminds Tony, chasing away the last dregs of the cold nightmare.

He feels again incredibly lucky and incredibly unworthy to be held like this, in all the ways he’s craved for, with all the gentleness he’s never known.

“Let it out,” Steve’s voice washes over him, a soothing balm over his frayed nerves.

“Thank you,” Tony mumbles into his shirt.

The hands around him tighten even more, as if their strength could hold together all the cracked pieces of Tony’s heart.

“I’m here,” Steve tells him, and he can feel the rumble of the words echoing deep in his bones.

“I know.”

Steve huffs into Tony’s hair, amused and fond, and Tony feels his heart grow lighter.

“You’re not alone,” Steve reminds him softly, “No one can save the world singlehandedly. You have us – Rhodey and Pepper and the Avengers.”

“And you,” Tony whispers hopefully.

Steve nods. “You’ll always have me.”

And, for the first time, Tony believes him.

* * *

Christmas and New Year has come and gone when Tony finds Steve in the workshop, working on one of DUM-E’s panels.

He’d come here with an offer for lunch. He hadn’t watch as his child was torn apart by his partner.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Tony panics, rushing over to his bot. 

Steve jumps, startled, throwing his hands up in the air in a placating gesture. 

In his left hand, Tony can see his red and gold screwdriver.

“DUM–E’s wheels got stuck and I was down here, so I thought I would fix him for you?”

That... that made no sense.

Tony blinks owlishly at him. When had Steve learned how to repair the stupid bot?

Steve must have read the question in Tony’s mind because he sheepishly ducks his head, smiling down at the floor.

“I watched you whenever you fixed him,” Steve admits almost shyly, and Tony blinks some more. “I’m not always drawing when I come here. Sometimes I just like seeing you.”

“You like seeing my ass, you mean?” Tony teases to cover up the rawness that the words leave.

Laughing, Steve stands up. DUM-E makes a small beep of protest, which Steve stops with a pat to his claw.

Tony’s heart clenches at the sight of it. 

The only other person who knows how to fix DUM-E is Rhodey, and that Steve had taken the time to learn... Tony didn’t know that you could love someone this much, and still find a way to love them even more.

“Your ass _is_ a gift,” Steve concedes, putting the screwdriver carefully on one of the worktables. His eyes flit pointedly downwards to the folder in Tony’s hand. “Now, did you come here just to tempt me, or did you have something else in mind?”

Tony grins, walking over to Steve for a long, hot kiss. 

“I’m always here to tempt you,” he smiles when they pull apart. That isn’t all he’s here for, though, and carefully, not wanting to overstep, Tony starts to explain, “that night, you told me that you could do nothing outside of the war. That all you could do was inspire people.”

Steve shrugs, unbothered. “I can’t create the miracles you can.”

“I _am_ one of a kind,” Tony can’t resist teasing.

“And thank god for that,” Steve prods back, “two Tony Starks in the world? It would blow up.”

“Hey!” Tony squawks, “I came here with good intentions.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Tony decides to ignore him. He refuses to be sidetracked. When Steve Rogers wants to hide from something, he can hide even better than Tony, and Tony needs Steve to know that he’s so much more than a soldier out of time.

He imagines that this painful frustration must be what Steve feels when Tony doubts his own worth, and the realisation helps remind Tony to be gentler with himself.

“I thought you wanted something to do, so, I made this for you.”

Tony shoves the folder towards him, the large bold letters on its front clearly visible: _the Sarah Rogers School for Gifted Children_.

Bouncing nervously on his heels, Tony waits as Steve hesitantly opens the folder to read the papers inside – a building lease, contracts, profiles of prospective students.

“I don’t, is this – ”

“I can fix things,” Tony rushes to explain, “but there’s an entire generation of superpowered kids who don’t know what to do with their gifts.”

He steps forward, taking the screwdriver from the table and twirling it in his hands, its red and gold glinting bright with possibilities.

“I can fix things, but Steve, you fix people – not fix, they’re not broken. You help us become better, and not just because you’re Captain America,” he continues to ramble, “you know what people need, and the future isn’t just made of clean energy or technology, it’s made of _people_ , of these children, and you – ”

“Yes,” Steve cuts in, eyes suspiciously wet. His lips twitch up, the only warning Tony gets before he’s pulled in a tight hug, Steve pressing a long kiss against his cheek. “On one condition.”

“What?” Tony breathes out, shock mingled with gleeful joy that he’d done the right thing.

“That you come to teach.”

“Well,” he laughs, light and free, “I _do_ have the hots for Professor Handsome.”

Steve kisses him again.

“It’s _Headmaster_ Handsome.”

Tony grins, already feeling sorry for the Headmaster’s office.

* * *

“Have I told you that I love you?” Steve asks.

“I could always use some reminding.”

“Well then,” Steve kisses him, deep and slow, carving his love into every edge of Tony’s lips, every crack of Tony’s heart, “I love you.”

* * *

They’re having a date night when Tony eventually finds his courage.

Steve is beautiful in the blue suit that he insisted on wearing even though they were only dining on the Tower’s roof.

“Only the best for my best fella,” Steve had teased in that Brooklyn accent of his.

They nearly hadn’t made it out of the bedroom, but the Avengers were adamant that the two of them should go on a date after their last three were unceremoniously cancelled by dinosaurs and what not.

Admittedly, he has missed the chance to have this peacefulness, and he doesn’t know when they’ll have another chance to just enjoy each other’s company before the world nearly ends again.

But with the stars shining clearly above them and their feet tangled beneath the table, Tony’s never felt more sure or certain of anything.

Swallowing his mouthful of pasta and washing it down with a drink of water, he asks: 

“Do you have my screwdriver?”

“What could you possibly need to fix?” Steve grins, amused. 

But he reaches into his suit anyway, rummaging inside his breast pocket and, sure enough, he takes out the red and gold tool with a flourish. “Trade it for a kiss?”

 _Steve keeps it next to his heart_ , Tony can’t help the smile blooming on his cheeks. 

Reaching across the table, he coyly pulls Steve’s hand towards him, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the inside of Steve’s wrist, delighting at the pulse he finds racing there.

With Steve’s grip lax around the tool, Tony easily takes the red handle, its familiar shape a comfort to his clammy hands. 

There’s a flush high on Steve’s cheek. He’s beautiful, and here, in this moment, he’s Tony’s.

Tony spins the tool thoughtfully between his fingers, letting himself have one last moment of doubt, and letting the light in Steve’s eyes chase away each and every one of those lingering doubts.

 _I make him happy_ , Tony thinks, _and he makes me completely, utterly happy._

_And I want this forever._

Clearing his throat, Tony squeezes Steve’s hand.

“I need to fix my last name.”

He moves to get down on one knee, watching Steve’s eyes closely. 

Confusion flits through them before they widen with surprise, then soften with so much of _everything_ that Tony never thought he deserved until Steve had shown him otherwise.

“Tony, I – “

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony shushes him easily, comfortable now in the knowledge that he _knows_ Steve. He knows what the answer will be, but he wants to ask the question, to properly hear Steve's answer. “You told me once that I fix things, that I create the future. But I can't imagine building any future without you next to me. So. Will you – “

“Yes,” Steve nods, sinking down on his own knees to kiss Tony, long and hard. “Yes. God, _Tony_ , I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Tony smiles into the next kiss.

Steve splays his fingers across Tony’s chest, the arc reactor shining between his fingertips. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Stark-Rogers has a nice ring to it,” Tony suggests.

“Unlike me,” Steve pretends to pout, but his voice is light with the same joy thudding deep in Tony’s bones, “I remain very much without a ring, Mr. Stark-Rogers.”

To hear the name from Steve’s lips makes it real, and it sounds even better than Tony’s been imagining for months, their names tied into the same breath, the same thought, the same love.

Tony laughs, giddy and unbelievably happy. 

“You have my heart.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” Steve promises, and the weight of his words settle starbright in Tony’s heart, warm and cherished.

Tony leans in to kiss him again.

“You already have.”

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](%E2%80%9Dstarklysteve.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


End file.
